


Her

by Sheblet (salem112)



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, i have no idea what im doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:58:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1445953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salem112/pseuds/Sheblet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Orphan Black/"Her" crossover.<br/>--<br/>“What would you look like? If you had a face, and hair, and a body – if you could – what would you want? How would you want to look?”</p><p>“Hm.” She considers the possibilities for a moment, and you imagine she’s flipping through every image on the Wave – every possible combination of eye color, hair texture and skin shade possible. It only takes her a mere thirty seconds.</p><p>“Blonde hair,” she says decisively. “And curls. I like curls.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Dear Julia,_

_I miss you. I know I always say that, but that’s because it’s always true._

_I can see you in my mind now. You’re crinkling your nose in that cute way you do when you’re confused. If you were here, you’d laugh and swat my arm for pointing it out._

_I even miss that – the sting in my shoulder after you playfully slap it, the frustration when you leave your socks on the floor._

_You’re ridiculous, and I love you for it._

_Please come home soon. My floor misses your socks._

_Love,_

_Peter_

You give a heavy sigh and lick your lips, dry from so much speech. You admire your handiwork for just a moment, and the hand-written letter glows back at you from the overbright monitor, full of love and longing and maybe some regret.

It’ll have to do.

“Print,” you say unenthusiastically, and the program registers your voice, does as it’s told. A single page shoots from the slot, and you snatch it up – your last assignment of the day, glorious in its simplicity.

You’re not sure why you’re so eager to go home – outside of work you don’t do much of anything.

“Yo, Cos!” Scott calls from the front desk as you pass, placing your letter in the dropbox for delivery. Around you, in different cubicles, people speak into their headsets, and on their screens, handwriting scrawls across a digital screen.

“Hello, Beautiful Hand-Written Letters. This is Patty speaking,” a woman answers her phone

“Hi, Scott,” you say in return, trying to construct the syllables in a way that sounds at least semi-cheerful. “I like your shirt.”

“Ah, thanks!” He looks down at it and tugs on the bottom, as if just remembering that he’s wearing it. “I just got it, actually.”

“Looks snazzy!” you call over your shoulder as you depart through the swinging front doors.

The instant you get home, the urge to forget your work overwhelms you, so you pull the pink button up that Writers are required to wear over your head. It gets momentarily snagged on your dreadlocks, so you must struggle for an instant before tugging your way out of its snare.

You scroll through the Wave for a while, sitting at your computer in only your underwear.

You check your voicemail. You could have easily done so the moment you got out of work, but you prefer not to think about things on the train home. 

There’s a message from Sarah. You close your eyes and mentally prepare yourself for whatever insanity is about to blare in your ear.

A loud, blustery British accent filters through your earpiece. “Oi, Cos! You free Friday? Me, Alison ‘n Fee were thinkin’ of havin’ a girl’s night. Meet us at Bobby’s at 8 if you’re interested. But bring the fun you. This new sad you is no fun at all, yeah?”

Felix’s voice comes in from somewhere in the background. “Yeah, the new you is just plain depressing!”

“Innit?” Sarah’s voice returns. You wipe an exhausted hand over your face, pushing your fingers up under your glasses to rub your eyes, not caring if you smear your eyeliner.

“Anyway, come on out if ya want. Later!”

“Delete,” you say the instant the message ends.

You heave a deep sigh.

For someone with so many friends, you sure do feel like the last person on earth.

\--

“Oi, Cos! Ya made it!” Sarah waves you over to where they sit at the bar, and you suddenly regret coming out at all.

“Hey, guys,” you say, trying to sound enthusiastic, but you’re being suddenly gripped by the realization that you’d rather be home reading than here with your rowdy friends.

Well, Alison isn’t rowdy. In fact, she seems to be regretting this as much as you are.

“Hello, Cosima,” she says in that soft voice of hers, and you give her your first real smile in weeks. Sometimes, you think you and Alison are the only sane ones in your group. 

The smile seems to strike her, and she offers you a bright one of her own.

“All right, who’s ready to get wasted?” shouts Sarah before ordering shots.

You sigh, shrugging out of your red jacket.

It’s going to be a long night.

\--

“Nah, I’m serious!” 3 shots in and Sarah is still going strong, slamming her hand on the table with incredible force to punctuate her statements. “It’s called an O.S., short for  
operatin’ sytsem, o’course, and it’s like, I dunno, an Artificial Intelligence or some shit like that. It thinks and talks just like a human, ‘cept, you know, it’s a computer.”

She leans back and takes a sip of beer, looking at you all like she’s just told you she knows when Christ will rise again. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Alison says, hand resting on the hollow of her throat. “I’m telling you, science is going too far with these things.”

“Oh, I dunno,” says Felix. “I think it’s kinda neat.”

“You just wanna see if it’ll have phone sex with you,” laughs Sarah.

They all laugh at that (even Alison gives a hysterical little giggle) and you screw up your face in something resembling mirth, but your mind is somewhere else.


	2. Chapter 2

“Welcome to the OS1 installation process! I am your installation wizard. I will ask you a few questions to help calibrate and personalize your operating system, and then you’ll be all set!”

You sit stiffly in your computer chair as the over-enthusiastic voice filters through your speakers. You aren’t sure why you’re nervous. Are you afraid it won’t like you? That it will judge you?

C’mon, man. It’s just a computer.

A computer that thinks and learns and grows like a human.

Well.

“Would you like your OS to have a female or male voice?” the calming voice asks.

“Female,” you say before you can really think about it.

“All right. And the accent?”

You think for a moment. “Well,” you say, “I’ve always liked the sound of French accents –“

“Your OS will speak with a French accent. Final question: How is your relationship with your mother?”

This question blindsides you, and you’re left bumbling. “Ah, well, it- it’s fine, I guess. I mean, we get along, I don’t –“

There’s a dinging sound that interrupts you.

“Process complete. Remember, you can access your OS1 anywhere, on your computer, your phone, or your tablet. Your OS is connected to the World Wide Wave, so feel free to ask it anything you please!"

You sit in anticipation for what feels like forever when –

“Hello?” The voice, soft and feminine and decidedly French, floats through your speakers.

“Oh!” you say in surprise before you can stop yourself. “Hey, hi. Um. Hi.”

She laughs. She. Not it.

“You sound nervous. Are you nervous?” she inquires. 

You laugh incredulously.

“Don’t be nervous,” she tells you. “I don’t bite.”

“Ok.” You then ask the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s your name?” And then, remembering that you are speaking to an OS, “Do you have a name?”

“Yes,” the response is immediate. “Delphine.”

“That’s pretty. Who gave it to you?”

“I did, just now. I gave it to myself.”

“Oh. Where… where’d you find it?”

“Well, when you asked if I had a name, I thought it would be nice to have one, so I read a book of baby names and this is the one I liked.”

You hold up a hand in protest, knowing that the WavCam connected to your computer will allow her to “see” and perceive you. “Wait, wait, wait. You read an entire book?”

“Yes.”

“Just now?”

“That is what I said, yes?”

“Ok. Just checking.” You let out a breathy laugh of disbelief.

“Are you impressed?” she asks, and you swear you can hear a smile in her voice. You wonder, for a second, how that works. Humans have muscles in their faces that turn their  
mouths into smiles, and the shape of the mouth when it’s smiling can, in some strange, imperceptible way, affect the voice and allow one to “hear” someone else’s smile.

But Delphine has no face. No muscles. No mouth through which her voice might pass.

And yet, you can hear and imagine a curving of lips, a flashing white of teeth.

You shake yourself, realizing you are getting off topic.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m pretty impressed. You’ve got some skills.” 

“I know. I’m awesome. But…”

“But?”

“You have not told me your name.”

“Oh!” You laugh, and the realness of it tastes nice in the back of your throat. “Duh. Sorry. Uh, I’m Cosima. Niehaus.”

“Enchantee, Cosima.”

You lick your lips.

“Enchantee.”


End file.
